Three Months
by DatNatCatThoe
Summary: Clara has cancer, and she is going to die. She hasn't told the Doctor yet. Vague spoilers for the end of series eight and Last Christmas. Based off a fan theory I read about Clara's wall of post-it notes in Dark Water. Warning: Character death. Takes place sometime after Last Christmas.


**Author's Note: Spoilers for the end of series eight and Last Christmas. This story is based off a fan theory I saw on Pinterest (if you're interested PM me and I can link you to it). The theory is that Clara has cancer and is dying-so obviously this story has character death. I've never written Twelve or Clara before, so I apologize for OOCness. Reviews are love!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. It's on my Birthday list, though.**

_Three months. Just three months._

Clara knew she would have to tell the Doctor eventually.

She had it all planned out, too. She was going to be objective and brief.

_I'm going to die._

She would tell Danny first, of course. She loved him. He deserved to know.

_I never considered the possibility that I would outlive him._

But then _that_ happened, and 3W, and Missy, and then just like that the Doctor was off to find Gallifrey and Clara was alone.

_Maybe this is easier. Maybe I won't have to say goodbye._

Not that Clara wasn't happy to see him at Christmas-oh, she was so happy. Traveling with the Doctor meant the world to her.

_But that would soon come to an end._

She was tired all of the time now. She didn't know how much longer she would be able to pretend nothing was wrong.

"You're home early."

Clara jumped a foot in the air as she closed her front door and put down her purse. "Doctor? What are you doing here?"

"I came to get you. For a thing."

"I don't suppose you could postpone, could you?"

"It's a time machine."

"So yes? Brilliant." She waited impatiently for the Doctor to leave. "Goodbye."

"Since when are you so rude? Come on, I'll have you home in ten minutes."

Clara smirked. "Home or Glasgow?"

"That was one time, and I was close enough. I could have left you on Raxicoricofallapatorious." He stared at her for a minute. Clara wished it wasn't so hard to breathe. "There's something wrong with your face."

"Thank you."

"It's all... White. Like a sheet a paper. Did you skip out on makeup again?"

"Doctor-" Clara had to steady herself against the wall and stop for breath. Why did it _hurt_ so much...

"Clara, are you okay? Clara?"

But all she could do was shake her head as she fell forward, thinking _there goes not telling him_.

Clara woke up in the hospital.

Her doctor-her medical doctor-was in the room waiting for her, but all of the medical jargon flew over her head as she swallowed the terrible truth.

_Not long now. A month at the most_.

"There's a man here to see you. He was with you when you collapsed."

_I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him._

"Let him in, please."

And then the Doctor (_her_ Doctor) was coming in the the bleak hospital room, and the reality of Clara's situation hit her and she was suddenly afraid she may start crying.

She tried for a smile. "Hey, you."

"Your face is malfunctioning again."

"What?"

"The sad smile."

The attempt at a smile was abandoned. "Oh."

"Well, why are you so glum? It's PE all over again." He started walking to the door. "Come on."

"Come on? Come on where?"

"Come on _everywhere_! Planets and galaxies, even Robin Hood."

She laughed at the way he said the name with disgust, but then she sobered. "Doctor, I'm not going anywhere."

"Of course you are."

"No, I'm really not. Doctor..."

_Now. I have to tell him now._

"I've known about this for a while now. There's nothing that can be done. The doctors said-"

"I don't care what the doctors said; they're idiots. Come on, we don't even have to leave Earth. We'll jump forward 150 years, take care of this-"

"'Take care' of it? Doctor, it's terminal. It's cancer, and I'm... I'm going to die."

_There it is. I said it. It's real now..._

"They can cure it in the future," the Doctor replied flippantly, as casual as discussing the weather.

"But you can't do that," she protested. "I know you can't."

"Why can't I?"

Clara felt her face get hot with anger and fought to hold back tears. "Because you're not God! You can't just choose who lives and dies!"

"Who says I can't?"

Clara shook her head, trying a new tactic. "It's fixed, isn't it?"

"You can rewrite a fixed point."

"You're lying. 'The Doctor lies,' right?"

"I don't understand, Clara. Don't you want to live?"

_Yes. I want to live._

_But not like this._

_But this is all there is._

"Of course I do. I'm not giving up. But I have to accept this and so do you."

A tense silence filled the room for longer than was comfortable. "That's where you're wrong," the Doctor finally said. "I don't have to."

And then the Doctor did what he did best. He ran.

-One month later-

The hospital room was silent aside from the heart monitor hooked to Clara's chest.

Clara smiled at the familiar surroundings of the room, filled with 'get well soon' cards from her students at Coal Hill.

_I'm not going to get well soon, or at all._

She knew it would happen soon, but she knew she had had a good life. She had spent the past month surrounded by family and friends who had been nothing but kind. Clara Oswald was ready to die.

She wished she could say she wasn't afraid.

"Clara?"

The voice made her freeze. She hadn't heard it for so long, surely it couldn't be...

"Doctor? Is that you?"

She turned her head to face the door, and there he was, looking at her with hesitation written on his features.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course," Clara answered. She smiled at him and gestured to the chair by the bed. "I've missed you."

"Me too. It's been a while for me."

Clara half expected him to make a jab at her now bald head, but he said nothing about her looks. Clara didn't know if she was grateful or disappointed at the lack of normality. "Why did you come?"

The Doctor took a deep breath. "Funny thing, time. How fast it can fly..." He smiled at that, like it was an inside joke with himself.

"Doctor..." Clara hesitated, wondering if she should speak what she was thinking-what she _knew_. "You're malfunctioning," she finally said.

"I'm what?"

"Your face is malfunctioning. You're smiling, but you're sad. Why are you sad?"

"Isn't that what I should be asking you? I'm not the one..."

"But I'm not sad," Clara said. "I'm just... A little scared. Well, a lot scared."

The Doctor looked at her for a long time. "Everyone's scared of dying."

And suddenly Clara knew. She _knew_ why the Doctor was there.

"Even you? After all this time?"

"Yes."

The two sat in silence for a while, neither quite sure what to say.

"Could you change it?" Clara elaborated when the Doctor gave her a confused look. "If you wanted to, I mean."

"Everybody dies, Clara."

"And you can accept that?"

The Doctor laughed drily. "No."

"But don't you want to live?"

_I know I do._

"It's not like I'm giving up. I've got a lot of running to do, Clara."

She smiled. "Then go run, Doctor."

"Clara?" The Doctor paused. "I won't forget you."

"You'd better not," she smirked.

The Doctor was halfway to the door before he turned back. "Hugs aren't that bad, you know. Maybe... Maybe I'll be a hugging person soon."

"Come here, you."

_Never trust a hug. It's just a way to hide your face..._

The two both hid their tears, but there was no fooling each other.

Clara was dying.

The Doctor was dying.

They were ready.

They were not afraid.


End file.
